


The Job

by HASA_Archivist



Category: The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Drama, Fourth Age
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-18
Updated: 2015-04-18
Packaged: 2018-03-23 12:41:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,421
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3768953
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HASA_Archivist/pseuds/HASA_Archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A mercenary dwarf completes an assignment.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Job

**Author's Note:**

> Note from the HASA Transition Team: This story was originally archived at [HASA](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Henneth_Ann%C3%BBn_Story_Archive), which closed in February 2015. To preserve the archive, we began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in February 2015. We posted announcements about the move, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this author, please contact The HASA Transition Team using the e-mail address on the [HASA collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/hasa/profile).

Gavin's small cottage home had an especially cozy appearance about it that evening, its single room lit by a robust blaze in the crude brick fireplace. The beauty lay in the dwelling's simplicity; austerely furnished, it was basic yet inviting. A storm lashed at the home outside, but the tranquility within remained undisturbed. Even the shadows seemed friendly as they flickered and danced on the far wall. But beneath that idyllic image crept the tentacles of dread, wrapping themselves gradually around the man's heart as he sat before his evening meal. They worked on his spirit with a terrible sort of patience, wringing out his pleasure gradually, replacing it with a vague anxiety. It had gotten to the point where he could no longer enjoy his stew, the broth of which he had made himself from his favorite ingredients.  
  
But why should Gavin worry? All was safe here; the cottage could not accuse him, could not do unto him any harm. Here he was welcome, and innocent. Yet from outside the wind seemed to call after him. There yet remained a debt to be paid, and Gavin sought with all of his strength to ignore it, taking another sip from his spoon. But the shrieking gusts outside would not allow the man to block them from his consciousness, and pummeled his sanctuary with a vengeful, redoubled fury. The sounds accumulated into a mass of pure dissonance in Gavin's head. He dropped his spoon, grabbing his hair with both hands and pressing his eyes shut. The cacophony built itself to a peak, and in the very instant that it became unbearable, the door flew open. It struck the wall with a clang and flapped about pathetically in the gale. Gavin clambered to his feet in horror. The winds had come for him!  
  
A heavy footfall came, resounding like a thunderclap in Gavin's tortured mind. A shadow separated itself from the dark of night and emerged into the cottage, a stunted silhouette draped in a hooded travel cloak. It proceeded toward the man as he gawked on, tracking water and mud on the floor with each harsh step. Gavin clung on the precipice just above sheer panic as he addressed the figure.  
  
"Wh- what... what do you want?"  
  
The words came out choked, drowning in their own fear. The intruder seemed to inhale deeply, moving one gloved hand to its throat. The fingers gripped and tugged, and out spilled a beard of impressive length from the folds of the dark brown cloak. The other hand moved to grip the figure's hood, and pulled back sharply, revealing a ruddy and grim-looking face. It was a dwarf, naturally. Gavin should have recognized this fact immediately, but the mists of terror had blurred his sight. The bearded one spoke, with a voice that sounded like the stirring of stones before an avalanche.  
  
"Shelter from the winds and a bit of meat to take with me are all that I desire, my good sir."  
  
The words, though cordial enough, came sounding detached, as if the dwarf were reciting the expressions of another.  
  
The man exhaled slightly and leaned on his chair for support, his fears subsiding for the time being. "Ahh... well, sir dwarf... I am not so well off that I have any meat to offer, but I do have a stew boiling at the moment."  
  
"I smelled as much. May I trouble you for a bowl?"  
  
"Well..." Gavin hesitated for a moment. "Yes, I suppose you could have some."  
  
The dwarf nodded, and without waiting for his host to sit, marched over to the table, taking a seat for himself. "Much obliged."  
  
As Gavin shakily lowered himself into his chair, the dwarf examined him closely.  
  
"All's well?" asked the Khazad.  
  
"Certainly," said Gavin, none too convincingly. "Just a little... tired."  
  
"And what of my bowl of stew?"  
  
Gavin stared at his guest dumbly for a moment, but then quickly snapped back to life. "Oh... of course!" The man rose hurriedly, grabbing a bowl and spoon from one of his shelves. He then went over to the cauldron filled with stew, which sat near the fire, and ladled full the container, returning it to the dwarf.  
  
"There you are."  
  
Gavin sat once more as the dwarf gulped down great spoonfuls of the broth without waiting for it to cool. The man could only take a few feeble, distracted sips from his bowl as the dwarf wolfed down his complimentary meal. Once his bowl was dry, the diminutive traveler shoved it away and stroked his black beard thoughtfully.  
  
"Hmm... a distinctive taste this broth has." The low rumble of his voice reverberated through Gavin's spine. "Was that... pumpkin that I tasted?"  
  
The man nodded just barely enough to be noticed. "Why... why yes. Pumpkin, indeed."  
  
"A rare ingredient in stews, I should think."  
  
Gavin rubbed the back of his neck gently. "Well, certainly not all that common."  
  
The dwarf leaned forward on the wooden table, causing it to creak slightly. "But I liked the taste. The pumpkins you used must have been of considerable quality."  
  
"Ahem... well..."  
  
"Tell me," continued the dwarf. "From where did you purchase these pumpkins?"  
  
"From... where?" Gavin's hand did not leave the nape of his neck, and he began to scratch harder. "Well... let me see... oh yes! I went to the market, in the town square. They sell all manners of goods there, you see."  
  
"Ahh..." the dwarf nodded. "Perhaps you could recall who sold them to you, then? I'd like to buy some for myself, methinks."  
  
Gavin cleared his throat and gave a small bite to his lower lip. "Well... I'm sorry, but I cannot recall the fellow's name. It's not the sort of thing that one remembers, you see. He... well... I'm not sure if he even told me his name. I certainly didn't know him."  
  
"Does the name... Gill sound familiar?"  
  
Gavin's fingernails dug deeply into the flesh on the back of his neck. "G-Gill, you say?"  
  
"He has the finest pumpkins in the region, or so I hear."  
  
"I... I myself hadn't heard..."  
  
"You must have paid a hefty price for those pumpkins, aye?"  
  
The dam of self-control that had held Gavin's fears burst, and he blurted out, "Why are you so damn interested in the blasted pumpkins?!"  
  
"Oh... let's just say that I have a vested interest in the pumpkins, Master Gavin."  
  
Those words drove the color clear off of Gavin's face, and his muscles all seemed to lock in that moment of total shock. The dwarf's expression remained chiseled from stone, and his unfeeling countenance matched the myths of dwarves that Gavin knew. Following a silence that stretched through the ages, the dwarf spoke again.  
  
"Allow me to be straightforward. Farmer Gill approached me on the matter of his vanishing pumpkin crop. Perhaps you've caught word of the thefts. He had no proof of the criminal's identity, but identified you as a suspect, and asked me to investigate the matter. Now, judging from your meal this evening and the trembling of your lips as I speak these words, I'm inclined to believe that his suspicions were correct."  
  
Gavin could muster only a weak shake of his head as a retort. He wanted to stand and run for the door, but terrible visions of the potential consequences of this course of action fastened him into his chair.  
  
"You have two routes to choose between now," said the dwarf, still with such a frigid and distant tone. "Quick and easy, or the opposite. Do you confess, then?"  
  
Gavin was numb all over now, even to his own fear. His whole figure seemed to deflate all the more under the dwarf's cutting gaze. He could not obscure his debt any longer. "I... I am the thief that you seek."  
  
The dwarf smiled, but it was a hollow expression. "Good... you've made this easier on the both of us."  
  
With the chilling grin from his guest and captor, Gavin's horror returned to him afresh, and he shook all over as he asked meekly, "What then is my punishment?"  
  
The question was so pathetic that a bit of sympathetic warmth appeared on the dwarf's face. He placed his right hand on Gavin's left forearm in what was apparently a sign of reassurance. "You shall pay only a reasonable price for your transgressions," said the dwarf as he looked the petrified man squarely in the eye.  
  
Gavin gazed fixatedly on the dwarf's eyes, hardly even hearing the words that the traveler spoke. Those orbs were shrouded and gray, deadened by years of work in the trenches of human society.  
  
But the stillness of the dwarf's gaze was shattered in an instant by a sudden upwelling of rage from somewhere within, and his eyes flashed in a terrible fury that stopped Gavin's heart. Then came the hand axe, drawn from somewhere within the cloak by the dwarf's left hand as his right squeezed Gavin's arm in a vice grip. The weapon was lifted in a compact wind-up, and it hung in the air for only a moment, but its image became scorched upon Gavin's memory for the rest of his days. Down came the blade in a swift chop, its edge driving through the skin and muscle and bone in Gavin's left wrist, making the journey from one end of the joint to the other, and finally embedding itself in the cheap wood of the dinner table.  
  
The dark crimson flood came forth, spraying the dwarf upon the brow, staining his cloak and beard. The wrath in his eyes died away, and as the human howled in agony, a familiar dead chill enveloped the dwarf's heart once more.  
  
\---  
  
Helmin marched the two miles from Gavin's cottage to Gill's farm in the biting wind and rain, humming a half-forgotten marching tune to himself. The night was the dwarf's only companion, and so he was certainly in poor company that evening. His path was an isolated dirt road, fast turning to mud in the drizzle. There were no stars or moon to illuminate the dwarf's way. The heavens had deserted him, withholding all blessings for his despicable task. No creatures stirred in the dead of the night, for no beast would trumpet the miserable journey of a bloodstained dwarf. There was only the road and the rain, an oppressive mist that completely filled the air, a terrible crown on a disgusting and lonely scene.  
  
The dwarf entered Gill's impressive farmhouse through the back door, as per his employer's requests. The farmer didn't want his family to know about the darker aspects of his work, didn't want their innocent eyes to take in the squat and hideous form of his hired help. Helmin stepped into what appeared to be a sitting room of some sort, having wiped off his muddy boots beforehand. A dying lantern poorly illuminated the entire room, and in that dim light the dwarf saw Gill, rocking back and forth in his favorite chair. The farmer's eyes were closed, but his mouth had opened wide in a crooked grin, and the lantern's glow was reflected in the man's pearly teeth.  
  
"How'd the job go?"  
  
"Quick... easy... he confessed, and did nothing to oppose me in my duties. Your thief problem is solved."  
  
"And the proof?" Gill opened his eyes now and leaned forward slightly in his chair.  
  
"Here," Helmin said as he removed a darkly-stained pouch from his belt. He brought it over to Gill slowly, with the reverence of a servant for his master.  
  
The farmer took the pouch from the dwarf's gloved hands and glanced inside briefly. Once he was satisfied that his employee had completed his assigned task, Gill closed the pouch and placed it on a small table beside his rocking chair. He laughed gleefully, in what sounded almost like a childish giggle.  
  
"Well bless my boot heels... you're as effective as they said you'd be! I'll keep your name in mind, Helmin, should I ever encounter any more problems with my business."  
  
"Just hand over the payment."  
  
"Of course," said the farmer with a nod, taking up a pouch of his own from the table and tossing it at the dwarf. It contained only a few coins, a petty sum for a petty thief. Helmin caught the pouch and fastened it to his belt, on a notch between two of his infamous throwing axes.  
  
The smile wouldn't leave Gill's plump face. "Did you enjoy yourself?"  
Helmin adopted a scornful look and gripped his leather belt with both hands. "I do not work in this field for pleasure, sir." Was that a lie? "And certainly not for jobs like this one... he was a hapless wretch... fell to pieces right before my eyes. It wasn't even necessary to take his hand... he would have been too shaken to steal again."  
  
"Now, dwarf, I was very specific in my instructions. You surprise me... it's not like a fellow in your line of work to be so distracted by sympathy."  
  
"I fulfilled your orders to the letter, as you can see," said Helmin, his disdainful features locking into place. "And I felt nothing for him in that moment. I leave my weaknesses behind when I embark upon an assignment. But looking back afterwards... there was dishonor in what I did tonight. He showed me more hospitality than you did when I first visited your home."  
  
Gill's smile faded slightly at Helmin's words, but he still maintained an amused look. "Is that so?"  
  
"I am a dirty secret to you. Never could I dine at your table. This man treated me like a true guest, and allowed me to sit beside him."  
  
"But you know that he's a dirty thief and a liar."  
  
"We all have our flaws," said Helmin quietly, and turned to walk for the exit. He gripped the door's handle, but then stopped, turning slightly to glance over his shoulder. "What are you going to do with your trophy, then?"  
  
Gill laughed his grating laugh again. "Well, I'm low on hog feed at the moment. Got to keep my prized swine fat somehow, yes?" And with those words he burst out in a fit of howling laughter, swinging wildly back and forth in his chair. Disgusted, Helmin quickly pulled the door open and marched out into the night.  
  
From behind him, the dwarf heard Gill's parting words, choked with laughter. "You come back now, hear?"  
  
Helmin, of course, had no intentions of returning to that farmhouse ever again.


End file.
